The Babysitters Club
by michealangela
Summary: When Dean leaves for a solo hunt, all hell breaks loose between Sam and his Dad. But when the arguement lands 14 yr. old Sam at the babysitter, he's forced to learn his lesson...or die trying.


Title: The Babysitter's Club  
Author: Michealangela  
Rating: T (for some cursing)  
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own these guys. (

A/N: So this is my second story EVER! I just sorta went on a whim with this one… I was bored and so I just started typing. But I hope you guys like it. It's a wee-chester fanfic. Sam is 14 and Dean is 18… Remember that reviews are always lovely!

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THE BABYSITTERS CLUB

CHAPTER ONE

"Until you can act like an adult, I'm going to treat you like a child you really are. And if that means leaving you behind on a hunt, then so be it. I'm not going to bother myself with hauling your ungrateful, whiney little ass along only to end up having to save you when you get yourself into trouble. It's just one thing after another with you, and I'm done with it!"

Sam watched his father pull away, a deep resentment for the man already growing in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it. The line had been crossed. Sure, Sam had known his father had thought those things about him and yeah, they hurt. But that wasn't what had upset Sam the most. No. Oh no. His father had actually gone to the extent of finding a BABYSITTER for him to stay with while he went on his next hunt. Sam couldn't remember the last time he had even had a babysitter. He was FOURTEEN years old. FOURTEEN! He certainly didn't need someone to watch over his every move. Even Dean wasn't that annoying…This was just crossing the line. Absolutely unforgivable.

But to make matters worse, Dean had been gone during the whole ordeal. His brother had left on a solo hunt about a day or so away. Dean had left the previous afternoon, not an hour prior to when the fight of all fights had broken out between Sam and his father. And without Dean there, there was no one there to play referee. Sam had been irrefutable in his argument. It all started when Sam hadn't cleaned off his plate at dinner. Fucking lasagna. His father noticed the leftover food, and from there it took on a life of its own. Sam, of course, held his ground, seeing his argument as irrefutable. The remaining lasagna on the plate had been burnt, charcoaled to the point of no return. Sam knew Dean wouldn't even it. And he had brought this to his dad's attention. Can you say worse idea ever? Sam's comment totally backfired on him… Of course he couldn't ever be a perfect little soldier like Dean. Sam didn't blame his brother for any of the fights between his dad and him, but sometimes, just once even, Sam wished John would recognize Sam for who he was and not some metalized replica of Dean.

Sam jumped as a cheerful voice called out from behind him. This was going to be a long couple of days. He turned to watch the approaching old lady, waddling along, trailed closely by a younger, broader man in his mid thirties. Sam resisted the urge to turn around and run, knowing he wouldn't get far seeing as his dad was still lingering in the drive way, no doubt enjoying the show. The woman looked fairly pleasant, almost like she was designed to be the world's best grandma. She was slightly overweight, as accentuated by her floral dress and apron. On her chest was an awful looking broach, about two inches long, shaped like an ugly flower of some sort. Her hair was short and permed, and Sam didn't doubt she would reek of old person perfume. Where in the hell did they even sell that stuff?

The man following behind her was a different story. Rather than looking frail, meek, and friendly like the woman in front of him, he had a hard demeanor about his movements. Everything, from the way he walked to the way he held himself, was strong and rough. There was no trace of friendliness although he had a rather large smile plastered on his face. Sam surveyed the man once more, deciding that this was a man he didn't wish to mess with. Something just felt a little off…

"Why you must be Sam! Hello, dear! My name is Miss Morison, but you can call me Bertha. And this here is my strapping young grandson Charley. We're going to be taking care of you for the next couple of days! Oh isn't that exciting?! We're going to have so much FUN!"

Sam ducked to avoid the stubby fingers that were currently attempting to pinch his cheeks. Good god. His father had not only found him a babysitter, but he had found him THE WORST POSSIBLE babysitter in the area. This woman insisted on treating him like he was 3. He could only wonder what the next couple of days were going to hold. If she even attempted to torture him with a 'toy' or a Disney movie, Sam would leave. Fuck that.

Sam faked a laugh as he straightened up. "It's nice to meet you Bertha. And you too, Charley. Could you tell me where to put my things? I don't want to keep you standing out here in the cold for too long."

"OH! Why silly me! Goodness gracious yes, my dear. Charley will show you right on up to your room. Dinner is going to be served at five sharp. Be there or I'm afraid you won't be eating for the rest of the night. Isn't that right, Charley?"

"Yes ma'am. That's the way we operate around here. If you don't follow the rules, then we'll be forced to punish you. It's only fair." A slight pause followed Charley's speech, followed by an eerily large smile as he led Sam into the house.

Already, Sam wasn't liking this whole babysitting experience. Something about these two just felt wrong. It's almost as if they were trying too hard to be nice or something. His 'spidey senses' were tingling, as Dean would say. As he entered the house, he was greeted by an arrangement of sights. To his left were several children seated on an antique couch. To his surprise, none of them were saying anything, but rather they were just staring ahead, as if in some sort of trance. The children ranged from age 6 to as old as 12, with both girls and boys. To his right, Sam noticed a small door frame with several locking mechanisms on the outside. His curiosity was peaked. He wondered what on earth these people could possibly be trying to hide. Sam was pulled from his speculations as he followed Charley up the stairs where he was led to his bedroom. Upon entering the room, Sam's jaw dropped.

The room was approximately 6x5 feet, barely big enough to squeeze in the bed. The bed itself, if you could even call it that, consisted of a wooden structure with a blanket and pillow resting on top. There was no mattress to be found. Not even a layer of padding. As Sam's eyes continued to progress their way upward, he began to realize just how bad this week really was going to be. There was no light fixture in the room. The only light that could enter into the room was through the covered window on the door. This place was even worse than the houses he and his family had stayed in during the worst of times. And that was saying something.

But something else had caught Sam's attention as he was ushered into the tiny room. The locks he had seen downstairs were also firmly mounted upon the outside of his door, as well as every other door down the hallway, meaning only one thing. Once he entered this room, there would be no escaping.

"You can put your things under the bed if you'd like. Bedtime is at 7:30 and we expect you up at 5:30 sharp. Chores will be administered upon waking and are expected to be completed in the given time restraint. Dinner is in 20 minutes. We're having potatoes and milk. If you take more than your share, you'll have to deal with Bertha. The restroom is down the hall to the right. You can use it twice a day and only twice a day. If you feel you need to use it more than that, a bargain may be made but it will come at a price. There is no watching television or use of the computer of phone. Bertha and I expect our privacy to be respected. No wandering around anywhere in the house except for your room, the living room downstairs, and the area in which you do your chores. Do not let us catch you outside any of these boundaries. Should you break any of these rules; the proper punishment will be administered. And I warn you, the punishment which we inflict will not be taken lightly. That is all. Now I'll leave you to your unpacking and see you downstairs in precisely 18 minutes! Have fun!" Charley gave Sam a large smile and exited the tiny room.

Sam looked around, debating what to do. He was sure that his father had known just the type of care that was administered here. Sam knew his dad couldn't or wouldn't have left him with a regular babysitter. No. Normal just wasn't in the Winchester vocabulary. Sam considered calling Dean but stopped himself. That was exactly what his dad would be expecting. More whining from the baby of the family. No. He wouldn't call Dean. A few days of this couldn't really be that bad, could it? He had slept on plenty of worse things than a board. Sam looked at his watch and decided it best to head downstairs for supper. Sleeping in this closet tonight was going to be bad enough as it was, but sleeping in here while starving would be the exact definition of torture.

--

At 7:15, Bertha and Charley enlightened everyone that they had 15 minutes before they were expected to be in their rooms and in bed. Sam looked at his watch incredulously. How in the hell was he supposed to sleep at this hour? The sun wasn't even down all the way! He wasn't even tired. Nonetheless, he decided to head to the bathroom to make use of one of his bathroom passes. Once inside the tiny cubicle, he closed the door lightly and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

Was he really as big of a pain as his dad said? Sure, when put into ratio, it was true that he had gotten hurt way more times than Dean or his dad but that wasn't entirely his fault. As Dean had once put it, he was a supernatural magnet. Wherever Sam went, the bad guys were sure to follow. And when put into battle, it was only logical for them to target Sam seeing as he was the youngest and the weakest. Sam worked his butt off, but no matter how hard he tried, nothing was ever enough for the infamous John Winchester. He could never be as good as Dean ever was. And as for the whiney and acting like a baby part, was he really that bad? Yeah, he complained a lot, but it was no more than any other kid his age. And in case his dad didn't notice, he WAS the baby of the family. Maybe they would just be better off without him…

Sam felt a tear roll out from his eye and hastily wiped it away. God. If Dean saw him now… Dean. What Sam wouldn't give to be here with Dean. At least then he would have someone to joke with, someone to laugh with, and someone to make him feel protected. Dean had always had his back. No matter how much Sam screwed things up or complained about things, Dean was always there. Sam continued to squander away in his thoughts until his eyes caught sight of the time displayed on his watch.

7:52

SHIT. Its only the first night and he's already breaking the rules. Sam quietly turned off the bathroom light and creaked the door open as quietly as possible. He peered out, inspecting whether or not the coast was clear. TO his relief, nobody was in the hall. Sam listened and could hear some muffled voices coming from the rooms below. Although Sam hadn't yet perfected the stealth technique to the level his brother had, he was sure he could manage to squeeze by an old lady and her grandson without too much difficulty.

Sam shut the bathroom door, letting it click as quietly as possible. He then crept down the hall to where his 'room' was located. He stopped and looked at the door. He realized that he was screwed. Impossibly and eternally screwed. There was no way he could both enter the room and lock himself out of it at the same time. It just wasn't possible. Sam let a stream of silent curses come out under his breath. How could he explain this? He raced through his mind, looking for the answer. Just then he heard a pair of heavy footsteps beginning to make their way up the stairs. Sam froze, weighing out his options. He could either stand here and get caught now, or wait until morning and get caught then. Yep. These were great options he was talking about here.

Sam remained positioned in front of the door, decision finally made. Better to get this over with now than be dreading it the whole night. How bad could the punishment be anyways? After what his father had put him through, Sam was sure he could withstand a lot of things, including what these people were referring to as 'punishment'. Maybe he would have to sit in the corner. Ha! Wouldn't that be a story to tell Dean! If his dad ever decided to come back for him, that was. Sam waited in apprehension, holding his breath as he watched Charley enter the hallway.

Within the first two seconds of eye contact, Sam knew he was in trouble. And not the 'go sit in the corner' kind of trouble. The look in Charley's eyes was very dark, almost sinister, as though Sam had murdered the man's wife or something. Sam felt himself involuntarily flinch. He had never known such hatred to be directed towards him in his whole life. And he had done some pretty bad things in his life. Breaking curfew wasn't anywhere near the top of the list. Even his dad never looked at him this fiercely when they fought. Sam's stomach dropped as he felt his heart rate speed up.

Charley approached Sam and grabbed him strongly by the arm with one hand. Sam winced in pain. He was sure the man's grip of steel was going to leave bruises. Sam did a once over of Charley as he felt himself being literally dragged roughly down the stairs. The man was certainly a force to be reckoned with. Sam guessed his gut instinct had been right about this guy. Something was off. Sam attempted to keep up as Charley pulled him forcefully into the small room in which he had seen the children sitting earlier that afternoon.

"Well lookie here, Bertha. Seems this one got out. And it's his first night here too. What do you suppose I should do to him? I mean we can't permit this happening again now can we."

Bertha looked up from her knitting and surveyed Sam. Sam felt the urge to cringe under her stare but held his position. One thing John Winchester did not permit among his sons was being a coward.

"Oh dear. I just knew we would have trouble with this one… Oh dear dear dear…."

Bertha trailed off at the end of her sentence, as though speaking of a ruined batch of muffins. Sam took the break in her speech as an opportunity to begin to explain himself. "Look, I didn't mean to be out after 7:30. Honestly. It's just that I was in the bathroom and I lost track of time and by the time I realized what time it was, it was too late. I'm really sorry and I promise you it won't happen again, ma'am."

"Now, now, my dear. We do NOT permit excuses in this household. And dishonesty is certainly no laughing matter either, young man. You have my permission to administer whatever you feel to be the appropriate form of punishment to young Samuel here. His father was right when he said that his son needed to be taught a valuable lesson."

Before anything else could be said, Sam was wrenched from the room by Charley. Sam could no longer feel his fingers, but he refused to show any signs of weakness to the man. He held his ground as Charley stopped in front of the small door, undoing all 4 locks while still maintaining a firm grip on Sam's arm. Then, without warning, he hurtled Sam down the steps before them.

Sam tumbled down the stairs, feeling the jars in his body. He was caught off guard by the motion, and tried his best to brace himself as he continued his downward journey. Sam knew he had reached the bottom as he felt his back connect with a wall, successfully knocking the wind from his lungs. His head connected with the cement in a painful sounding 'crack' that echoed throughout the small chamber below.

Sam sat a few seconds, attempting to recompose himself before Charley returned. He looked at the small room before him. On the opposite wall, he saw four pairs of shackles hanging, as well as a whip and some other instruments. On the wall to his right was a small cage, big enough for a person. To his left was a wooden slab with restraints.

"Talk about hiding your skeletons…" Sam didn't like the look of things. Evidentaly, these people took their stupid rules VERY seriously. The apprehension began to build in his stomach as the realization of the situation he was in sunk in. He turned as he watched Charley return to the door and continue down the flight of stairs. Before he knew it, Sam felt himself being unceremoniously hoisted up as his arms were shoved into a material of some sort. SHIT... He was being put into a straight jacket. A fucking straight jacket. Sam felt Charley give a final tug before he was flung into the middle of the cellar.

"It's time I teach you a lesson, boy. I warned you not to break the rules… Now I got to punish you for it."

Sam curled in reflexively as he felt the steel toe of Charley's boot connect with his abdomen. Years and years of training had taught him to fight back, but at this minute, fighting just didn't seem like the best option. Sam remained in the position, enduring the brunt of Charley's kicks while trying to maintain composure. He would not cry. He would not give into his dad. No. If his dad wanted him to be an adult, then he would just take it like a man.

Eventually, the beating ceased. Sam's body felt broken and sore. It was as though every part of him were bruised. Sam clung to consciousness, afraid of the consequences of passing out. He was sure he didn't deserve this extent of punishment for what he did. Sam remained still, in a sort of shock. Sure, his dad had punished him plenty. And yeah, it was usually pretty gruelsome. But never, NEVER in his 14 years of living with the man had his dad ever raised a hand to either him or Dean. Despite that fact that Dean would have never allowed it, his dad just wasn't that kind of person. He was bigger than that. Sam felt the tears begin to form in his eyes. God did he wish he was with his family right now. No matter how much they hated him at times, they would always make sure he was protected. Protected from people like this. Charley circled around Sam, surveying the amount of damage inflicted. Sam sat completely motionless, showing no emotion or signs of pain as Charley lifted his body and removed the jacket.

"If we catch you disobeying a second time, it will be worse. Now go upstairs and get your ass in bed! And you better MOVE!"

Sam wasted no time. He scrambled up the stairs as fast as possible given his condition. The farther he got away from this man, the better. Sam didn't stop until he had reached the sanctity of his tiny room. He quickly shut the door and sat gingerly upon the board. Sleeping was going to be hell. Pure and living hell.

Sam reached into the front pocket of his book bag, fingering his cell phone and pulling it out. He flipped it open and began to dial the number he had memorized by heart. Dean would know what to do. Sam paused as he went for the send button. Was it really that bad? Was one beating all it took for him to break down and be defeated by his dad and his incessant pessimism? Sam shook his head. He was going to prove his father wrong. John Winchester was NOT going to win this battle. Sam shut the phone and returned it to the pocket, gently lowering his battered body onto the board, not bothering to unfold and cover himself with the blanket. Within minutes, he was fast asleep.

--

Dean flipped through the channels nonchalantly. There was never anything on daytime TV. Never. He was nearly finished with his hunt. Simple routine salt and burn. Unfortunately, the bastard only came out at night so Dean found himself with a whole day of free time and nothing to do with it…

God, what he wouldn't give to have Sammy with him now. Sure, the kid could get annoying at times but he was still way better than _daytime TV_. Dean could just imagine Sammy and his dad going at it at the moment. Those two were always at each other's throats, probably because they were both so damn stubborn. Dean couldn't help but feel bad for his brother. Although he could see his dad's point sometimes, Sammy was still just a kid. Sometimes his dad just forgot that. Dean knew that Sam was different, different from him and his father. Sam didn't _like_ hunting. Sam didn't _like _their lifestyle. Dean knew it. Sam knew it. But John didn't. And that was usually the source of the fighting. Even though he didn't like it, Sam would still tag along and follow his family, although sometimes it would be kicking and screaming. Their father mistook this bit of rebellious behavior as ungratefulness. And it wasn't Sam's fault he always had to be saved. The kid just attracted trouble, like bees to honey.

The buzz of Dean's phone mused him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the caller ID. Dad. Great. Probably calling to check up on him… "Hello?"

"Dean. How's the hunt going?"

"Pretty good. I'm almost done here. I'll have everything packed up and finished by tonight. I'll prolly head out tomorrow afternoon if everything goes okay. How are things going with Sam?"

Dean heard his father scoff into the receiver. "He's busy learning a lesson right now. I'm surprised he didn't call you yet actually…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "What did he do this time?"

"Typical Sam. Always whining and acting like a baby. So I thought it was time I treated him like one."

"Dad…What did you do?"

"Well, I left him in Marrietasville."

"What?! You left him there—ALONE?"

"No, no, no. Hell no. That boy would think of that as a vacation. No. I looked through the newspaper and found him a babysitter. He's only gonna be there for a few days. I figured it would be a good lesson for him…"

Dean let out a chuckle. "Wow. Dad, you do realize he's 14, right? I mean, what do you think that babysitter is gonna think?"

"I explained the situation. She said she would take care of everything. She sounded like a pretty nice old broad."

"I'll bet he was furious. You want me to swing buy and pick him up when I'm done?"

"Oh he was. But if he's gonna act that way then this is what he deserves. You can pick him up, but wait another day or so before you leave. I want it to really sink in."

"Yes sir. How long has he been there?"

"Dropped him off yesterday. I figure a week should do him some good. Maybe it will teach him to appreciate us more."

"He DOES appreciate us dad. You just can't see it. Anyways, I'll swing by and pick him up on my way to meet you. What's the address?"

"914 Maple Street. Big yellow Victorian house. And you can meet me in Burketsville. The job here is gonna take me a little longer than I thought."

"Alright. I'll call you when I'm close."

"Sounds good. Be careful son."

"Always am, dad. Always am."

"And I don't just mean with the ladies either…"

Dean laughed. "Right. I'll cya soon."

Dean shut his phone and considered calling Sam to harass him. He had to admit that Dad could go a bit over the top sometimes, but a babysitter?! He had to hand it to the man. Dean about pressed the send button but then thought the better of it. When Sam wanted to talk about it, he would call. Until then, Dean would just have to wait. With that in mind, Dean settled in and turned it to "_Mrs. Doubtfire"._

--

Sam awoke to the sound of pounding on his door. He rubbed his eyes and blearily looked at his watch. 5:15. Damn. Sam sat up, pulling out his flashlight and assessing the condition of his body. Everything felt sore and battered. He eyed in a couple bruises. As he guessed, there was a clear outline of a handprint on his upper arm. He couldn't exactly see for sure, but by the way it felt, he could only guess there was a large bruise in the middle of his back where he had slammed into the cellar wall. It hurt like hell, but it was livable. Sam climbed out of bed and got dressed. He sat on the board, waiting to hear the locks being removed from his door.

Five minutes later, Sam heard a succession of clicks indicating he was at last free. He pushed open the door and passed the bathroom, deciding his bathroom usage would be best valued if saved for a later point in the day. He walked down the stairs, his mind on breakfast. His stomach was rumbling, clearly protesting the lack of food. 12 hours without food wasn't exactly fun. Sam entered the living room where several other children were sitting. He took a seat on the couch, assuming that this was where they were supposed to wait until they were summoned.

Bertha and Charley entered the room a few minutes later, both wide awake and smiling, as cheerful as ever. NO surprises there. Sam chose only to look at Bertha, afraid of what might be displayed in Charley's eyes. His body was still aching from their last encounter.

"Well hello, my dears. We have SOO much to do today! It's going to be so much fun! All of you boys will be working down by the river with Charley while you girls will be in the fields with me. Supper will be at 5 o'clock sharp. You will each get a packed lunch around noon. Sounds splendid! Now let's get to work! After all, the early bird gets the worm!"

Sam pulled himself up off the couch and followed the other boys out of the room and out the back door. He hadn't remembered seeing a river when his father had brought him here, but then again he hadn't exactly been paying attention either. With Charley in the lead, they hiked along a path for an hour until finally reaching the river where they were to work. Sam pushed his body as he hiked on the rough terrain, muscles protesting his every step. But he ignored it, refusing to receive more punishment or humiliation.

Upon reaching the river, Charley abruptly stopped to give them directions. "You are to walk along this shore and find as many flat rocks as you can. Bertha wants to build a patio for in the summertime. If you bring me a flat rock, your lunch privileges will be taken away for today. If you don't find me ten rocks, you won't get supper tonight. NOW GO!"

Sam flinched at the command and stumbled along the shore, searching for the flattest rocks he could possibly find. He was going to try his best to stay off Charley's radar. Laying low was going to be essential if he wanted to survive the next couple of days. He quickly determined that finding flat rocks wasn't nearly the worst part of the task. Carrying the damn thing back for Charley's inspection was murderous. In the first two hours, Sam had only managed to find one decently flat rock and haul it back to the man. This was going to be a long day.

Two and a half hours into the morning, Sam picked up a second flat rock. He looked it over, deciding it was nearly flat, certainly flat enough to qualify. He carried it over 500 yards to the area Charley was lounging in a lawn chair. He plopped it down for Charley's inspection. The rock looked flat enough for him. But suddenly, a few minutes into the examination, Charley was on his feet.

"YOU IMBESILE! CAN YOU DO NOTHING RIGHT?! This rock is ROUND! I specifically asked for FLAT rocks! You idiot! No lunch for you, Samuel. Now get back to work!"

Sam turned and walked away slowly, willing his legs to move faster but lacking the required energy. He returned to the never-ending hunt for the flat rocks, swearing under his breath continuously. His stomach was already protesting no breakfast, and now, because the fucking rock wasn't flat, he wouldn't be eating again until FIVE. Five more hours without food. He only hoped his body could make it that long without beginning to show the weakness and fatigue that was beginning to seep itself throughout his tattered body. Sam was sure that collapsing wouldn't go over so well with Charley. He would probably suspend his eating privileges for the rest of his stay…

The day continued. Sam worked through lunch while the others sat and ate their bread and cheese. Although it wasn't much, Sam felt his mouth begin to water anyways. Food of any sort would satisfy him at this point. He had never been hungrier in his life. So far, he had a total of 6 rocks. Four more and he was guaranteed supper. Right now, supper was Sam's only motivation. Everything else was a blur. Hauling the rocks was becoming more and more of a challenge. Sam's body was to the point of physical exertion but he pushed on. This made training exercises look like a cake walk…

As Sam was carrying his last final rock to Charley, his body finally gave out on him entirely. Sam collapsed into a mumbled heap on the ground at Charley's feet and lulled into unconsciousness. He felt completely and utterly drained, having no energy to even bother an attempt at getting up. Unconsciousness was welcomed as Sam felt himself drift off. Unfortunately, the visit was short lived. Charley ruthlessly picked Sam's body off the ground and waded into the river. Sam didn't stir, but instead chose to watch in a half-cocked daze. Once Charley was about waist deep, they stopped. Sam perked his head up, searching for the reason for the halt. Then, without warning, Sam felt the water rush around him as he was submerged. Talk about a wakeup call.

Sam allowed his body a minute to adjust. Of course Charley wouldn't do things the easy way, splashing water in his face. Oh no. Sam was sure this was Charley's form of punishment for being human. But after a thirty seconds had passed and Charley's hands still hadn't let up, Sam began thrashing around. He didn't know what was occurring or why, but he knew that if he didn't get air soon, he was gonna black out again. And this time it would be for good. He doubted that Charley would be the kinda guy who would do CPR to save his life. Sam kicked of the river floor, trying to find some solid ground to place his feet on. His lungs began to ache as the oxygen deprivation increased. He needed air and he needed it now. Just as Sam was on the brink of blacking out, he felt the pressure release his shoulders.

Sam breached the surface quickly and took several lungfuls of air. He couldn't remember air ever tasting this sweet. His body was trembling, shaking involuntarily. Fits of coughing racked his frame as he attempted to get as much oxygen as humanly possible. That had been close, too close for his personal preference. His dad had warned them about drowning, had trained them in some rescuing exercises, but his dad had NEVER put their lives in danger. If it ever got even a little bit close, his Dad would step in and stop the exercise. It had only gotten to that point once, and even then, before his dad could say anything, Dean was there, pulling him out of the water, back to safety. But not today. Today Sam had to pull himself out. He followed Charley as they waded to the shore, his mind in a sort of shell shocked state.

"Weakness is not tolerated here, Sam. I think it would be best if you remembered that."

Sam nodded to Charley, lacking the strength in his voice to say anything. Enough was enough. If this was what being a man was really like, then Sam never wanted to grow up. Hell, even his dad didn't treat him this badly when he screwed up on a hunt. Caving to his father was sounding better and better as each minute crept by. Sam sat a moment in solitary thought before he reached a decision. Tonight, he was calling Dean.

With that, they turned to follow Charley as they began the tumultuous hike back.

--

Sam was in his room for bed at 5:45. He had fallen asleep shortly after supper, deciding upon a short nap before he would make the call to Dean. He didn't want to be overheard, knowing the consequences would possibly result in death. The phone call would be worth nothing if he just died shortly after it. No…He could wait.

Sam was awoken by the sounds of the locks being clicked into place. He would have preferred to use the restroom, but that was a mistake he was not willing to repeat. Instead, he reached over to his book bag and pulled out his phone. The light emitted from the tiny screen was blinding as he began dialing. Sam double checked to ensure he had all the numbers correct and then pressed the send button, crossing his fingers and hoping to hell Dean would pick up.

--

Dean had just finished his hunt, having things go exactly as planned. He was feeling rather smug; debating what extracurricular activity he should participate in on his last night in town. Dean sang along to Metallica with the radio blared. Life just couldn't get any better than this. Suddenly, he felt his phone vibrate. He switched the radio off and pulled out his phone, glancing at the caller ID. Sammy. He smiled as he flipped it open and put the phone to his face.

"Sammy! Hey hey! Dad told me about his little plan… I gotta say, that's a new one, even for him. So how are things going with this babysitter? Is she changing your diaper as scheduled? Is she hot?"

"Dean… God man. It's good to hear from you." Dean listened carefully as Sam spoke quietly into the receiver. His smile quickly faded. Something in Sam's voice caught Dean off guard. It sounded as though Sam was _scared_. His concern was elevated a notch from constantly worried to extremely nervous.

"Sammy, what's going on? Why are you whispering? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Its fine. I just gotta be quiet right now so they don't hear me… Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy?" Dean could hear there was something troubling Sam.

"Dean… Can you come get me?"

Dean sat for a moment in silence. It wasn't _what_ Sam was asking him that had him stunned. It was _how_ he was asking it. There was raw emotion and vulnerability behind the statement. The kid was practically crying, as though begging for him to come get him. Something was seriously wrong. "Sam. Talk to me. What's going on?"

"Dean. I can't explain it right now. Please? I promise I will tell you everything. Just please come get me. Dad was right. I learned my lesson. Please… I need you. Dean, I can't stay here any longer. I can't… I just can't."

Dean could sense that Sam was on the brink of tears. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and pressed the accelerator. Of course he would get Sam. Not getting the scrawny little runt just wasn't an option. But he needed to know why first. Sam wasn't the kind of person who gave up on a fight very easily. The kid was stubborn and for him to give into his father like this had Dean troubled. "Sam, listen to me. Its gonna be okay. Alright? I'll be there as soon as I can. I promise. You understand? We're talking sun up, and I'm there."

"Okay. You really promise?"

"Yeah, I promise. Now what the hell is going on over there? I need you to talk to me, Sammy."

"I-I… I'm sorry."

Dean held his breath as he heard Sammy begin to cry. He could feel the anger begin to bubble inside of him. He waited for Sam to continue. "Sammy?"

"Dean… God, Dean. You're not gonna like it."

The anger began to grow in the pit of Dean's stomach. He already didn't like it. "Sam. Please. Just tell me what it is, okay? I won't be mad."

"Dean… They, these people… they aren't good people."

Dean stared dead ahead at the road, face full of rage. "What do you mean by 'not good'?"

Dean sensed Sam's emotional dam collapse. "D-Dean, they did aw-awful things to me. I know d-d-dad said I had to c-come here to grow up and be a m-m-man and stop whining and stand up for myself and stop being s-so ungrateful b-but I promise, I p-p-promise Dean, if you come and pick me up I will do everything, EVERYTHING, that dad or you tells me to. P-Please. I just want to get out of here…"

Dean fought to keep his voice steady. The anger was now surging through his veins. "Sam. Listen to me. I am on my way right now, buddy. But listen. Sam. This is important. I hafta know what did they do to you… Tell me what they did."

"I…I-I dunno if I can. What if they hear me? I'll get in even more t-t-trouble…"

"Talk really quiet or something. I can hear you just fine over here so if you need to whisper then I'm fine with that. Alright? Please, Sam. You don't have to give me the whole story yet if you don't want to, but I need a little bit to go on here. I can't just walk in there with both guns blazing. You taught me that. Alright? So talk to me. What did they do to you Sam?""

"Y-Y-Your wrong, you know… I _tried _to teach you that. Doesn't m-mean you listen."

"Sam…" Dean didn't buy Sam's attempt to lighten the mood. He wasn't letting him out of this that easy. Didn't matter if the runt was right. Dean needed to know what was going on and he needed to know what was going on RIGHT NOW.

"Alright. Well, the f-f-first night here I broke the bedtime rule. See, we're supposed to be in our b-b-bedroom at 7:30 and then they l-lock us in until 5:30 the next morning. Well, I just got c-c-caught up in thinking about d-dad and everything he told me and then I w-was thinking about y-y-you and then next t-thing I know it's 7:52 and I obviously couldn't lock the d-door and be in the room at the same time. So then Ch-Ch-Charley came up stairs and saw me. He took me by th-the arm downstairs into the cellar, put me in a s-s-straight jacket and… Dean… I'm s-s-sorry."

"Sorry for what Sammy?"

"I know y-you taught me how to f-f-fight bbback and all, but I couldn't D-Dean. I just c-c-couldn't. I'm s-s-sorry. He b-b-beat me. I let you down…"

Dean ripped through the hotel room. The need to punch something was stronger than ever. His dad had left Sam with some psycho babysitter. Damnit! Only Sam could blame himself for something as screwed up as this… "Sammy, don't apologize, okay? You've got nothing to be sorry for. Absolutely nothing. Any man who puts you in a straight jacket is a coward. You didn't even have a fair fight. I'm proud of you, got that?"

There was a long pause before he finally heard Sam reply with a teary 'yeah'. But Dean could sense that there was still more that Sam wanted to say.

"Sammy? Is there anything else I should know?"

"Yeah, D-Dean…. That's not all of it."

"WHAT?! What else did these bastards do to you?"

"Well, t-t-today, we woke up at 5:30 and went d-d-down to the river with Ch-Charley. He made us search for flat rrrocks. And they had to be p-p-perfectly flat too, otherwise we wouldn't get l-lunch. Well, the second rock I brought to him was t-t-too round so I didn't get lunch. S-S-See, we had to have t-ten rocks. Well, I found ten. But as I was c-carrying the last rock back to him, I couldn't go any farther and I j-j-just collapsed right in front of him. I hadn't eaten all day, Dean! I tried as h-h-hard as I could. And then, he c-carried me waist deep into the ri-r-river and held me under. D-D-Dean, it was… it w-was AWFUL. I couldn't b-b-breathe and I was s-sso scared. Dean, I've never been so afraid in m-m-my entire life. He let me go j-jjust before I was about to b-b-black out..I thought I was gonna d-die."

Dean sat on the motel bed, rubbing his hand over his face. His brother had been in trouble, fighting for his life with some psycho babysitter with a straight jacket. And then the poor kid almost _drowned_. And what had Dean been doing this whole time? Lounging in some dump ass motel watching fucking daytime TV. He should have known not to trust his dad with Sam. Dean felt the anger and guilt surge through him.

"Sammy… God, man. I'm so sorry. I would have never let you go there if dad had told me about the plan before he left. He only called me yesterday… Him and his damn lessons. Look, I am on my way right now. I'll get there as fast as I can, alright? Just hold on… Hey Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

Dean heard Sam suck in several quick repeated breaths in a row. Sam was crying. Hard. Someone was going to pay. "Dean…I'd b-b-be a lot better if y-y-you were h-here…"

Dean didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. His head was full of a whirlwind of emotions at the moment. He was furious with his father for ever leaving Sam with these bastards. He wanted to kill the damn babysitters for what they did to his little brother. Drowning him?! Who the hell does that?! And not to mention the straight jacket… Oh yeah. These bastards were gonna pay. But most of all, Dean just wanted to hold Sam in his arms and tell him that everything was going to be okay. He couldn't remember the last time he showed the kid any emotion of that kind but now he was definitely willing to make an exception. God. How in the hell could their lives be so fucked up? Dean was going to fix this. Dean was so preoccupied with all the thoughts running through his head that he almost forgot he was still on the phone.

"Dean? … D-D-Dean? Are you still th-th-there? Please don't l-leave me."

"Yeah Sammy. I'm still here." Dean couldn't mask the anger that was now present in his voice. Sam sounded so young, so vulnerable. He wrenched his knuckles to try and contain some of his suppressed anger, at least until he was off the phone with Sam.

Unfortunately, Sam picked up on the rage, but mistook the meaning behind it. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like chick flick moments and all. Maybe dad is right… I'm sorry I'm such a baby Dean. I'm sorry you have to take care of me all the time… It's okay if you don't want to come get me. I understand…This is all my fault anyways."

"NO! Sam don't you even think that. You listen to me right now. I am NOT mad at you. I'm not mad at you in the least bit. Not even a little. Okay? Sammy, this isn't your fault and it never will be. And I don't mind taking care of you all the time. It's my job. My fulltime, lifelong career. And I wouldn't give it up for anything in the world. Sammy, I know I don't tell you this enough but… I love you man. Always have and always will. I love you more than anything in the world, and that includes girls. Dad can go to hell. If this is his idea of teaching you a lesson then I myself will be the first one to leave his pathetic ass behind. I promise I'll be there as soon as I can, alright?"

"Yeah… a-alright."

Dean let out a sigh as he grabbed his duffle bag and slammed the motel door behind him. He was in the Impala and backing out in a matter of seconds.

"Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy?"

"I love you too."

"Thanks kiddo…"

Dean sped out of the parking lot, leaving only a cloud of dust and rocks in his place.

--

Sam finally stopped crying as he talked to Dean. He asked him anything and everything he could think of as long as it was something to get his mind off the situation at hand. They talked about Dean's hunt and how he probably screamed like a girl when the ghost popped out. They talked about all the crappy diner food in Wisconsin, starting from the 'fish' filets to the mystery meat they called meatloaf. Sam couldn't help but feel relieved. Dean was coming. In less than 12 hours, he was saved.

Sam let out a small laugh as Dean told him a joke he had heard while he was on the road. No matter where they were or what the situation, Dean could and would always lighten the mood. He could tell Dean wanted nothing more than to inflict some physical harm on someone, but Sam continued talking nonetheless. The longer they talked, the less time he had to spend thinking about everything else.

Suddenly, Sam cut his laughter short and remained perfectly still. Shit. SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT! He listened precariously as a set of heavy footsteps climbed the stairs just outside of his room. He was dead. Having broken two rules already and suffered the consequences, Sam wasn't sure his body could take the pain of learning another lesson from Charley. His only hope would be that Dean would get here before it was too late.

Sam picked up the phone and placed it to his ear. He whispered hurriedly, afraid of what was coming. "DEAN! Shit! Dean! He's back! Charley--he's back! He must have heard me talking… Dean, he's the one that I was talking about. I can hear him coming. Dean, please. You have to help me. Please!"

"Sammy! Hey hey hey…calm down, man. Everything's gonna be okay. Just hang up the phone and hide it. Fake sleep when he opens the door to check on you. I know you're good at it…. Be careful Sammy. Be careful. And Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of you. No matter what… Don't you ever forget that."

"Really?"

"You betcha. Now quick, hang up before the bastard sees you. I'll be there soon. And if you can, gimmie a call back once he's gone. Or send a text or something. Anything so I know you're alright."

"Okay…Good bye, Dean."

With that, Sam shut his phone and quickly began scanning the room. He needed some place to hide the phone. The book bag was out seeing as that was the first place Charley would probably look. There was no mattress for him to squeeze it under so that was out. Sam looked to the ceiling. There, in the corner, was the perfect hiding place. Sam stood on the bed frame and tucked the phone into the insulation. Just as he heard the locks beginning to unclick, he collapsed quietly onto his bed and assumed the position of a slumbering individual.

The door was flung open vigorously. Sam barely maintained the steady, rhythmic breathing that Dean had taught him. Sam felt Charley's eyes scowered over his every curve, as if looking for any signs to confirm his suspicions. Sam watched through concealed slits as Charley wrenched open his book bag and examined the contents. Thankfully, Sam had neglected to pack any weapons. Explaining the presence of knives and guns to a psychotic babysitter wouldn't exactly be a walk in the park. Sam jumped as the book bag was hurtled onto his bead, landing directly atop his legs.

Sam acted quickly to regain composure. He rolled over lazily and shielded his eyes, putting on his best confused look. 'Wha… What's going on?"

"You little bastard. I know you were talking to someone… I heard you. Now where is it? Where is the damn phone?!"

"Sir, with all due respect, I have no idea what you're talking about. I've been asleep this whole time…"

Sam flinched as Charley grabbed hold of the front of his shirt and pulled him so their faces were mere inches from each other. The intensity of Charley's glare was frightening. Sam held his ground as best he could. They remained locked in this position for several minutes before Charley finally released Sam.

"I'll be back."

Sam watched Charley's retreating form, sheer fear building inside of him. He prayed with all his might that Charley found his act to be believable. Sam remained positioned just as Charley had left him, holding his breath until he once again heard the infamous footsteps coming up the stairs. It was as though the devil was slowly coming up to greet him. Sam watched precariously as Charley entered through the doorway, a small cloth like item in hand. It had the appearance of a sweatshirt or towel. Sam racked his brains, trying to think of what on earth Charley could possibly want with either of those. And then the answer hit him in the face… Straight jacket. The bastard was holding the fucking straight jacket.

Sam began to make a clumsy attempt scramble away from Charley into the farthest corner of the room. "Please, sir. I didn't do anything! You have to believe me. I was asleep this whole time! Please!"

"I've had enough trouble out a you, Winchester. This is just a little preventative measure. Don't worry. I'll let you out in the morning…"

Sam began to tremble as Charley towered over him, jacket in hand. The man was twice his size. All possible escape routes were covered, gone from sight. Sam shuddered as Charley slipped the torture device onto his arms, tightening the strings behind his back. One thing was for sure. If Sam never saw or felt a straight jacket again, he would be perfectly fine with that. Demons, ghosts, spirits of the unknown; those he could handle. Pure and unaltered torture was another story. When Charley was finished, Sam felt himself fall face first onto the board. He cringed and remained stationary, fearing the worst was yet to come.

"This oughta teach you a little lesson about respect. Little preventative measure I thought of myself. Sleep tight, Sam." Charley spat in Sam's face, delivering a final kick in the middle of Sam's back, and exited the tiny room.

Sam listened closely as he heard the door slam shut and the series of restraints were relocked. Wholesome relief traced throughout his bound body. He was still alive, still in one piece. His act had been good enough to fool Charley. Sam sat back as his body continued to tremor continuously. For the third time in the past twenty four hours, he had seen his life flash before his eyes. But now, the ultimate challenge still stood at hand: Calling Dean back. Sam attempted to stand on the bed. Getting up without the use of either of his arms proved to be a harder task than expected. After several attempts, Sam gave up on his futile efforts. Dean was coming and that was all that mattered. Sam focused his thoughts on Dean, trying to ignore the pain and numbness he was beginning to feel in his arms. Eventually, he allowed himself to drift off into a troubled sleep.

--

Dean continued to push the car faster, pressing the speedometer up to speeds around 110. Sam had yet to call him back, and the feeling in his stomach was just plain unsettling. He had done the math in his head: 2 more hours. 2 more hours and Sammy would be safe, back with Dean, where he was supposed to be. Dean had tried dialing his dad but had only succeeded in reaching the man's voicemail. No surprise there. Dean was slightly grateful at the moment, though. Had his father actually have picked up for a change, Dean wasn't sure he would have been able to control what he said. The way Dean looked at things, his father was partially to blame for this. Never again was he going to leave Sammy alone with the man. Never.

Dean continued onward, reaching the town of Marrietasville in record time. The roads were empty, partially due to the time. There had been no cops, which Dean had considered a blessing from God. The last thing he needed was some idiot wasting his time. Sam was in trouble and Dean was going to save him no matter what it took. If that meant speeding down the road at what some may call "reckless" speeds, then so be it. Dean's sole focus was on Sam. As far as he was concerned, nothing else mattered. It had only taken him a matter of 98 minutes to reach the craphole of a town they called Marrietasville, and another five minutes to locate the house at the address his father had given him. He pulled up and eyed the place, looking for any signs of imminent danger or human presence.

The place looked absolutely and 100 percent normal. Almost _too _normal, even for Dean's liking. The house was painted a cheery yellow with white trim. There was a wraparound porch and several flowers out front. Even the small sign out front that said 'Home, Sweet Home' felt merry. No wonder his dad didn't have any problem leaving Sam here. The place just cried out home.

Dean switched the car off and pocketed the keys. He glanced at his watch. 4:12. Had this been any normal house with any normal people, Dean would have felt terrible about waking them at this hour. But for these bastards, all sympathy was gone. For these bastards, he wouldn't have minded showing up at fucking 3:00. No. These people didn't deserve to sleep. They deserved to rot in hell, along with the rest of the evil things they hunted. Dean hopped out of the car and walked up the path. Just as he reached for the doorbell, the front porch light was switched on and a little old lady came bustling out.

"Why hello, dear. Can I help you? Are you having car troubles or something? Oh, do come in for a cup of tea! It's the least I can do for your troubles…"

Dean surveyed the woman quickly. Her friendliness was indeed quite discerning. Everything about her was grandma-like, from the apron she wore to the smell of her. As he continued to take in the woman's presence, Dean almost forgot his reason for coming here, even going so far as considering taking her up on her offer for tea. Something about the woman just drew him in, inviting him to follow her every whim. Dean found himself in a sort of trance as she once again offered him tea. But as he heard a gruff voice come from inside the house, inquiring what was going on, he found all traces of the previous stupor removed. The concern for Sam once again consumed his every thought.

"I'm really sorry to bother you, ma'am. I don't mean to be waking you up at an hour like this but I'm actually here to pick up my brother. My dad dropped him off a few days ago and gave me the address to come get him. We're having a bit of a family emergency. There was an car accident between my aunt and a drunk driver. I'm sure you understand."

"Oh, how unfortunate! Poor Samuel is going to be devastated… Oh my, my, my. Perhaps we should let him sleep a bit longer. Would you care to come in and join me for a cup of tea? Or would you rather prefer coffee?"

Dean followed the woman into the house, taking note of the interior structure. Several things struck him as odd. All the doors had locks on them, including the small closet to his right. Sure, most houses had locks on their doors but these people insisted on keeping excessive amounts. They even had locks on the outside of their freaking kitchen door. What the hell would you need to lock a kitchen for? And in the living room on his left were several couches, but no forms of amusement. No television. No books. Not even a radio. He shuddered as he realized the reason for the lack of entertainment: They spent their time doing 'other' activities, like torturing his brother. Dean clenched his fists and cleared his throat as he went to continue the conversation, attempting to level out the anger currently pulsating through his veins. "You know, really. Sam can sleep in the car. He does it all the time. My dad told me that Aunt Sherry doesn't really have much time and I know it will mean a lot if Sam gets to see her one last time before she passes away."

"Oh dear me. I'm so sorry for your loss. Charley, why don't you go wake Sam? See if you can get him up and moving as quickly as possible…"

Before Dean could interject, he saw Charlie leave the room and race up the stairs. Something in his gut was telling Dean to follow. Something just felt off, and he certainly didn't want Sam to be alone with the man. Dean stood momentarily paralyzed in indecision as he debated what to do. Had Charley connected the dots? Dean realized his appearance could put Sam in danger. Charley had suspected Sam was talking to someone on the phone, and, after nearly drowning in the river, what sane person wouldn't want to get the hell out of this place. Dean replayed the conversation with Sam and then his conversation with Charley. He continued to remain perfectly still as he retraced the details of both situations, but his mind was instantly made up when he heard a resounding thump followed by a cry of pain coming from the floor above. Dean glanced suspiciously at the old woman, who was now shuffling nervously about the room.

"I think I'll just go help get Sam's stuff together. The kid can be pretty difficult when he's tired. There's really not much time…" Dean began to make his way towards the stairs but was stopped when the old woman put herself in his way.

"Now, now, son. I'm sure they will be down in a jiffy. Three can make a crowd, you know. I wouldn't want you to get in the way… Not with your poor auntie waiting on her death bed.'

"I think I'll take my chances."

Dean gently pushed her aside, and began to take the steps two at a time. He wasn't even sure which room was Sammy's, but that didn't matter. He knew it was by the steps and he knew it had several locks on it. As Dean crested the steps, he nearly yelled yahtzee. There, in front of him, was a room with the name "Samuel" taped to the outside. Apparently, these people weren't all for the suspense of hide and go seek with the prisoner. Lucky Dean. Much to Dean's dismay, Charley was nowhere to be found. He looked up and down the hall, searching for evidence of the bastard. Nothing. No sign of the man. He only hoped that Charley had ran away like the coward he really was, knowing what was good for him. Had Dean been given the chance to fight the man, all hell would have broken loose. Now, his sole focus remained on Sam.

Dean approached the door and gently tapped it with his knuckles. "Sammy? Sam…You in there?"

Dean waited as he put his ear to the door. There was no response, but behind the door he heard a soft whimpering noise. It sounded as though someone or something was covering Sam's mouth in an attempt to mute the young man.

"Hang on, Sam. As soon as I get these damn locks undone, I'm getting you the hell out of here. Just hang on."

Dean assessed the locks. Fortunately, all of them were easily pick-able. Dean pulled out a paper clip from his wallet and began working his way through the locks. His anger only continued to swell as he progressed through the locks. Six locks on a fucking bedroom door was a little overkill. There was no way in hell Sam could of even picked one of these, let alone six of them. Damnit! If he got his hands on Charley, the man was so gonna die. And he was gonna die painfully too. Of that, Dean was sure. Finally, the last lock released with a sweet sounding 'click'. Dean pulled the lock free and swung open the door. The sight before caused his cup of rage to overflow.

There, in the far corner of the tiny closet sized room, was Sam. But he wasn't alone. Sitting directly behind him was Charley, who had one hand firmly clamped over Sam's mouth, the other placed painfully tight around his chest. Dean took a step forward, but then stopped. The bastard was using his brother as a shield. Dean looked at Sam, surveying his younger brother. Sam looked scared, lying there in the older man's arms. His upper body was restrained in a straight jacket, while his ankles remained tied together as well. Sam's mouth was gagged not only by the man's hand, but also by an old washcloth. A blindfold was also placed over his eyes. Although Sam couldn't physically see him, Dean knew Sam could tell he was in the room.

Dean quickly surveyed the scene. Dean had a rough plan: not letting this asshole hurt Sam anymore. Dean looked at Sam, searching for some sort of method of communication. A slight nod of Sam's head was all it took. Dean spurred himself into action. As anticipated, Charley flung Sam's body at Dean unceremoniously as his first defense. But Dean was ready for it. He grabbed Sam's body and quickly whirled him around, using Charley's hold on his brother as well as the momentum gained by the throw to his own advantage. Charley was hurled into the wall, releasing the iron clad grip he had on Sam in the process. Dean gently picked Sam up, cradling him close to his chest, and carried his brother out into the out into the hallway, laying him down on the ground as gently as possible. Dean crouched down and whispered a few words into Sammy's ear. Dean was here. It was all over. Dean ruffled Sam's hair playfully and then returned to the room to finish off Charley. A few well positioned hits were all it took before Charley was unconscious. Dean gave Charley one last kick to the abdomen before locking the door, successfully entrapping the man inside. Dean turned, and felt his heart plummet. Sam wasn't there. As in GONE. Some fucking bastard had taken his brother from him—AGAIN.

Dean felt the panic surge inside his body. Where the hell did he go? Dean was sure he left Sam at that exact spot. Sam surely wouldn't have gotten up and walked away, not with ankle constraints and a straight jacket. No. Someone took him. And he had a fairly good idea who that someone was.

Dean raced down the stairs to the foyer only to find it empty. Shit. Where the hell did Grandma Satan get too? Dean paused, taking a second to double check the rooms and then turned to head back upstairs. There was no way in hell that woman could have carried Sam's body down all these stairs without him noticing. It just wasn't humanly possible. Not to mention that Sam would have put up one hell of a fight with her. No. Dean would have noticed something for sure. As he reached the top of the stairs, Dean looked down the hallway once again. The only place left for the woman to have hidden Sam was in one of the several locked bedrooms. Looks like this was going to be a matter of innie meenie miney moe…

Dean chose the second door to the right. The woman would have wanted to get Sam away from the general vicinity of Dean, but he doubted she could drag Sam's body much farther than that, especially if there was some form of a struggle. Dean picked the locks quickly, wasting no time in knocking, and wrenched the door open. He peered into the room and nearly collapsed as the relief washed over him. There, huddled in the far corner of the room, curled into a ball, was Sam. Dean crossed the distance in less than a second. Dean didn't even hesitate as he pulled Sam into a strong embrace, cursing to himself as he felt the small tremors rack through Sam's frame. Never again.

--

Sam couldn't believe it. Dean had actually come. Although Sam didn't know the exact location of his brother, it didn't take a genius to figure out that Dean must have done some hardcore speeding. His father had told him that Dean was over 8 hours away. Dean had made it here in 3. The things his brother would do for him. Sam could hear Dean's voice being carried upwards from downstairs. He laughed as he heard his brother pull out some crock story about an aunt in an automobile accident. Typical cover story. He was sure Dean had put on his best convincing smile, trying to win over the heart of Mrs. Morrison. Sam crawled to the door and waited as he heard someone climb the stairs. He was going to be free.

The instant the door was opened, Sam's hopes of rescue were lost. There, standing with a look of incredible rage displayed across his face, was Charley. Sam tried to scurry away from the man and call out for his brother but before he could get anywhere, Charley was on top of him, covering and inserting gag in his mouth. Sam squirmed under the larger man's weight. Dean was _so_ close and yet so far at the same time. Sam attempted to scream through his gag as his ankles were tied together and a blindfold was placed over his eyes. Dean could hold his own in a fight rather well but this man was vicious. And Sam didn't doubt that Charley would use Dean's immediate concern for Sam as an advantage. After all, Sam was Dean's one vulnerable spot. It worked both ways.

Sam listened closely as he heard Charley leave the room. Sam had no idea what the man was doing, but quite frankly, he didn't care. Sam needed to warn Dean. Within a matter of minutes, Charley returned. Sam continued to yell as he felt Charley manhandle his body, dragging him into the back corner of the room and dropping him. He could hear the door shut and locks click. Sam had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was, he was certain it wasn't going to be good. Charley positioned himself behind Sam and placed one hand over his mouth and another on his already tender rib cage. Oh yeah. This was _definitely _not going to be good.

Sam waited in tense silence as he listened, trying to make out whether or not Dean was still in the house. He nearly jumped when he heard the taps on the door, followed by Dean's muffled voice. Sam began to thrash around and scream. He feared for the worse. Sam knew that Dean sensed that he was in the room, but he could only hope his brother had chosen to come into the house armed. His screams were reduced to whimpers as he felt Charley's grip on his already sore body tighten. Sam listened as Dean picked through the locks and opened the door.

Sam sensed the tension in the room. Dean was in a difficult position and he knew it. Charley was using Sam as a shield, meaning anything Dean would do would result in some sort of injury to Sam. Shit. Sam knew Dean wouldn't allow that, but the matter of concern was getting past Charley. Sam wished he had some sort of communication, ANYTHING, to converse with Dean. Having no voice was a hassle but the brothers had other means of corresponding with each other. Unfortunately, those other methods were currently bound in a straight jacket and covered with a blindfold. Giving into a last resort, Sam gave a slight nod of the head. It wasn't much, but Sam knew his brother would pick up on it instantly. Sam was giving him the go-ahead.

Suddenly, Sam felt Charley fling his body to the left. Dean was making his move. Sam braced himself for the attack, hoping Dean was only faking the guy out. Surprise racked through him as Sam felt strong arms envelope him, pulling him close and then spinning around, as though to catapult Charley away. And it worked. Sam nearly cried out with joy as he felt Charley release him, hearing the satisfying thud as Charley's body connected with the wall. Sam buried his face into his brother, taking in as much as possible. Sam felt Dean position his arms and lift his body into a sort of cradled position. Although Sam had no idea where they were going, he didn't care. As long as he was with Dean, nothing else mattered. As long as he was with Dean, he was safe.

Sam felt Dean gently lower him onto the ground. He didn't want Dean to leave him just yet, but he knew that Charley had to be dealt with. Sam sat in awe as he sensed Dean crouch next to him and position himself right beside his face.

"Everything's going to be alright, Sammy. I'm here now. I'm gonna go teach that bastard a little lesson of my own. I'll be right back. I promise…"

Sam felt the ruffling of his hair. Dean's signature 'I love you' move. Although it wasn't much, it spoke volumes to Sam. He listened as Dean returned to the room and delivered a bone-crunching punch. Had there been no gag in his mouth, Sam was sure he would be cheering his brother on. Charley was finally getting what he deserved. Sam remained on the floor listening to Dean whoop the man's ass when unexpectedly, he felt someone grab his legs and begin to pull.

Sam began thrashing and thriving as he felt his body being pulled down the hallway, away from Dean. NO! He wanted to cry out. He wanted to scream, to alert Dean. But he couldn't. Instead, all he could do was whip about and pray that this route didn't lead him to the stairway. Sam stiffened as the person paused and opened a door. He continued to fight as his body was lifted and thrown in, deposited onto the wooden bed as though it was a bag of trash.

Sam worked his way into the corner and curled into a ball as best he could. Whomever had just moved him had now locked the door and was most probably going after Dean. He was also now sure that the 'whomever' who had just deposited him into the tiny room was Mrs. Morrison. He had felt her broach as she dropped him into the room. Damn. The woman was stronger than he would have guessed. Sam listened as he heard the woman run down the steps, presumably escaping. He figured that the sight of Dean beating up Charley had most probably scared her off. And he couldn't blame the old woman either. When Dean was mad, he was not a force to be reckoned with. Sam felt his body begin to tremble. Why did everything always have to get so screwed up? Why did he always have to be the one who needed saving? Why couldn't everyone just fucking leave him alone?

The door opening drew Sam out of his thoughts. Sam burrowed in on himself, putting as much distance between himself and the person who would soon be entering the room. He knew that if Mrs. Morrison had returned, he wouldn't be able to escape. And Sam could only assume Dean was still busy with Charley. Dean was one for revenge and Charley just had it coming. Sam listened strenuously as the person quickly crossed the room, enveloping his body in a matter of seconds. Sam began to squirm and struggle, fighting the person who was going to take him away from his brother. If he wasn't going to be with his family, the he didn't want to be at all. His body continued to quiver, but that didn't matter. All that mattered now was getting free and getting the hell away from this place.

"Shhh… Sammy. Stop. Sammy! STOP! It's me. It's Dean. Your gonna be okay. You're safe now."

Sam stiffened as the person spoke. Sam attempted to speak through the gag that was still positioned over his mouth… " 'ean?"

"Hey Sammy. Didja miss me?"

Sam didn't even bother to reply verbally. He buried his face in the crook of Dean's neck and began to sob, allowing the relief to wash over him. It was over. Everything was actually over. Sam felt Dean's embrace tighten as they began to rock back and forth in a comforting motion. Dean held tightly to Sam, both to comfort and console his younger brother as well as himself. He had almost lost Sam, had almost lost his reason for living. Never again was he going to let his brother out of his sight. Sam remained locked in Dean's arms, relishing from the safety and love his older brother provided. Dean would always be there for him, protecting him and loving him in spite of everything else. No matter how bad things got, Dean would always save him. The two lingered in this position for several minutes, neither wanting to let go. Finally, Dean pulled away and moved to Sam's feet, where he began to untie the bondages.

"I'm sorry Sammy. None of this should have ever happened. From now on, I'm never leaving you alone with dad again. Ever. I don't know what the hell that man is thinking sometimes. Would you be okay with that?"

Sam tried to reply with an exuberant 'yes', but instead settled for a simple nod of the head. He sighed as he felt the last knot of the rope weaken as his ankles were free. Dean then moved closer and began to untie the bandana currently covering Sam's eyes. Dean continued to talk while working to undo the knot.

"You know Sam, I don't think you are a baby. I never have. Not even when you WERE a baby. You're one of the toughest kids I know. And as for those things dad said, ignore them. You shoulda called me earlier Sammy. You know that no matter what, you can always come to me with anything right?"

Sam waited to reply this time as Dean pulled his head forward and placed it on his shoulder. There were several minutes of sustained silence as Dean worked to undo the knots. When he was finally free from his facial obstructions, Sam leaned back to look at Dean.

"Dean… I know that you will always be there for me. I know that…"

"Well then what took you so long to call?"

"It's just that dad told me I was a baby, and that I needed to 'grow up and be a man'. Last time I checked, real men don't go calling their older brothers bawling on the phone every time something goes wrong…"

"Sam. That has got to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, you know that. I dunno if you realize this, but a lot of times, our definition of trouble and everyone else's definition of trouble are WAY different. Dad can just go screw himself. Sometimes I think the man needs a dose of reality himself. And as for calling me, Sam… Man, why do you think I call you all the time?"

"I dunno… I never really thought about it."

"Sam, half the time the only reason I call you is because if I DON'T call you, I'll lose it. And yeah, so I may not be bawling, but that doesn't mean that there isn't some emotional reason behind me calling you…"

"Really?"

"Really. But if you ever tell anyone that, I will so deny it."

Dean smiled, and pulled Sam into a hug, ruffling the younger man's hair. Sam would have returned the hug had it not been for the straight jacket. Dean immediately realized the predicament and began undoing the back. Within minutes, Sam was free.

Dean reached down and pulled Sam to his feet. Sam's body began to sway as his vision began to swim. Dean grabbed onto him, and held firm, ready to catch him should his legs give out. Sam gave Dean the affirmative nod, and Dean ducked under Sam's arm, bracing him for the journey to the car. A few minutes later, they were out of Sam's own personal hell house and in the impala, sitting side by side, just as two brothers should be.

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A/N: So that's it! I did a little revising, so I hope it's better. What do you think of it? I was debating adding another chapter where the boys confront John about what happened, as well as adding in a little bit more traumatized Sam with Dean comforting him but I dunno… Why do you guys think? Leave me a review! And thanks so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!


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